Release date: May 16, 2023
Subgenre: Epic Fantasy, Science FantasyAbout Darkness Falls:
After the harrowing trials she underwent in the
series’ first chapter to keep her magic from spiraling out of control,
Ondreeal rests easy knowing she’s finally managed to keep her powers in
check. But as the young wizard becomes plagued with dreams of a
nightmarish future that she can’t remember upon waking, she begins to
doubt whether her powers are really as controllable as she thought. A
nagging urgency pulls her back to Bastion, a free city of light and a
beacon of hope for all peoples, and home to Ondreeal’s mentor Sir
Francis.
Also making their way to Bastion is the robot CD-45, who
carries a dire warning of an ancient threat that looms in orbit above
the planet—a message that only Sir Francis can comprehend. As both
Ondreeal and CD-45 rush towards Bastion, and the future of their world
becomes less and less certain, Legacy of Seven: Darkness Falls proves
itself to be a more gripping and action-packed story than readers could
ever have anticipated.
Fans of Cassandra Clare and Sarah J. Maas will quickly fall for Flie’s Legacy of Seven: Darkness Falls. His novel is an action-driven story about coming of age with an awareness of a future that grows ever darker, and about learning to make the best of the present in spite of it. Amidst his meticulous and extremely vivid world building, his characters’ deeply held perspectives on the roles of science and superstition eerily remind readers of the world they live in today. A profound exploration of the consequences of too much power, Legacy of Seven: Darkness Falls will encourage adult and YA readers alike to reflect on the capacity of ordinary people to make a difference.
Excerpt:
Ondreeal gazed at the soaring white bricks of the grand hall, the pristine color like mountain ice, frozen for endless time. Those carved stones taken from the Earth, countless years ago, called to the wizard Ondreeal. You will bring light into the darkest of places. Long rays cast down from towering windows—they revealed the slow dance of specks, golden dust emblazoned by the light before they disappeared into shadow, doomed to quietly float into midnight corners. Those grains looked so much like the sparkling sands upon which she had stood all those months ago in a fight for her freedom and her very life. Lightning from the wand had reached her....
Ondreeal pulled out the ebony rod from the brown leather vest that hemmed in her embroidered, white tunic. She slowly turned the rod: flat circles at both ends, sharply cut off the perfectly round circumference in the center. It showed her young face, now eighteen seasons old, with faint hints of her green eyes and long, chestnut hair. The inch-thick, curved instrument appeared flawless and reflected a distorted image of the hall on its polished surface. Suddenly, the wand burst to life in a brilliant blue-white, making those bricks glow like moonlit ice.
She slipped the rod into her tunic and gazed upon the golden throne, a symbol of power for the great wizard Sir Francis. Ondreeal had trained to wield the wand with a great deal of power herself. She had learned much during her time with the Embertree, who were devoted followers of the God of All: how to fight, but more importantly, some control over the complex magic of the wand. If only Embers Bradai and Doyle had remained by her side, she might have more success to report to Sir Francis. Instead, the two warriors had convened with the Lord of Light upon arriving here, in the capital of Bastion. Of course, what else did she expect Embers to do? They needed to serve their holy leader. She wrung her hands, fidgeting, though never taking her eyes off the golden throne.
After all these many months, all the tragedy she had endured, and everything she had worked so hard to achieve, Ondreeal had finally returned to her mentor.
In many ways, she never believed this day would come. The deaths that weighed on her conscience totaled far too many souls. Her use of the wand had been disastrous, killing many around her, not that she had meant to—though it truly didn’t matter; they remained gone. Nothing would change that. Her heart beat like a drum, and with each beat, a different face flashed into her mind.
Her hands trembled, and her body produced a thin layer of sweat that chilled her until she shivered—a storm vibrating from within. She tried to slow her rapidly beating heart, fighting against dizziness that threatened to pull her to the white stone floor.
Then Sir Francis strode out of a side door, in flowing white robes that matched with his perfectly long beard; he smiled at Ondreeal, bathing her in the warmth of the sun. “I don’t believe my eyes!” He hurried over to her, cupping her face in his hands. “My dear, I have been looking for you from the very moment that you disappeared. That feels like a thousand years ago!”
Ondreeal beamed. “I’ve missed you, too.” She clenched her hands. “I spent time with the Embertree. They helped me. Sir Francis, I must confess, after I left here—”
Sir Francis shook his head, grabbing her shoulders. “Say nothing more. I know the great power of the wand. The tragedy that followed your disappearance is not your fault. If the blame lies anywhere, it’s with me. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. If only I had listened to you, given you the time you needed. I was foolish.”
Ondreeal shook her head. “No. I should have taken my mother’s wand the moment you offered it—not waited until damage had been done. I was so scared. Frozen in fear. What I wouldn’t give to change that moment. Death. All those deaths.”
Sir Francis sighed. “Only someone with a pure heart can carry such a weight.”
Ondreeal glanced up at him. Can he free me from this guilt? “Will you teach me so that I can truly control the wand?”
Sir Francis nodded enthusiastically. “And more. You will be a great guardian of light! One that I’m certain your mother would be very proud of.”
Her eyes welled with tears. She stepped back to blink them away when the world flashed. Ondreeal and Sir Francis stood in front of the Lumenary. The white stones of the church rose up to meet golden steeples, and its tall windows sparkled with blends of colors, like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Marring this beauty was a nearby makeshift stage with a plain wooden cross rising out of it. Ondreeal and Sir Francis stared up at it solemnly.
The world flashed again. Zairoc stood on stage, and looked just like he had the first time Ondreeal fought him—black, polished boots matched his finely- tailored pants and tunic. His dark hair was accented by frost behind his ears, and his icy-blue eyes twinkled at her as he held Sir Francis’s hand up to the wide crossboard of the crucifix. Ondreeal watched in horror as Zairoc ran a nail through her mentor’s palm, then turned back to her with a devilish stare.
Sir Francis didn’t flinch—he simply stared down at Ondreeal like nothing had happened. “My dear, I am so happy to have you home! There’s so much I want to tell you.”
Zairoc moved to the other side of Sir Francis, lifting the old wizard’s hand to the cross.
Ondreeal wanted to take a step, race on stage, and stop Zairoc—but she couldn’t lift her feet. Despite a whirlwind within, her body remained frozen in place. “Sir Francis, can’t you see him? He’s going to hurt you. Zairoc will kill you if you don’t stop him!”
Sir Francis stared down at her, his eyes finally filled with knowledge. “My dear, I’m not the one who can stop him.”
Zairoc placed the nail at the center of her mentor’s palm.
Ondreeal screamed at Zairoc. “Leave him alone! Get away from him! Sir Francis, please, you have to stop him. Please!”
Zairoc plunged the nail through the old wizard’s palm. Sir Francis wailed in pain.
Ondreeal pulled out the ebony rod from the brown leather vest that hemmed in her embroidered, white tunic. She slowly turned the rod: flat circles at both ends, sharply cut off the perfectly round circumference in the center. It showed her young face, now eighteen seasons old, with faint hints of her green eyes and long, chestnut hair. The inch-thick, curved instrument appeared flawless and reflected a distorted image of the hall on its polished surface. Suddenly, the wand burst to life in a brilliant blue-white, making those bricks glow like moonlit ice.
She slipped the rod into her tunic and gazed upon the golden throne, a symbol of power for the great wizard Sir Francis. Ondreeal had trained to wield the wand with a great deal of power herself. She had learned much during her time with the Embertree, who were devoted followers of the God of All: how to fight, but more importantly, some control over the complex magic of the wand. If only Embers Bradai and Doyle had remained by her side, she might have more success to report to Sir Francis. Instead, the two warriors had convened with the Lord of Light upon arriving here, in the capital of Bastion. Of course, what else did she expect Embers to do? They needed to serve their holy leader. She wrung her hands, fidgeting, though never taking her eyes off the golden throne.
After all these many months, all the tragedy she had endured, and everything she had worked so hard to achieve, Ondreeal had finally returned to her mentor.
In many ways, she never believed this day would come. The deaths that weighed on her conscience totaled far too many souls. Her use of the wand had been disastrous, killing many around her, not that she had meant to—though it truly didn’t matter; they remained gone. Nothing would change that. Her heart beat like a drum, and with each beat, a different face flashed into her mind.
Her hands trembled, and her body produced a thin layer of sweat that chilled her until she shivered—a storm vibrating from within. She tried to slow her rapidly beating heart, fighting against dizziness that threatened to pull her to the white stone floor.
Then Sir Francis strode out of a side door, in flowing white robes that matched with his perfectly long beard; he smiled at Ondreeal, bathing her in the warmth of the sun. “I don’t believe my eyes!” He hurried over to her, cupping her face in his hands. “My dear, I have been looking for you from the very moment that you disappeared. That feels like a thousand years ago!”
Ondreeal beamed. “I’ve missed you, too.” She clenched her hands. “I spent time with the Embertree. They helped me. Sir Francis, I must confess, after I left here—”
Sir Francis shook his head, grabbing her shoulders. “Say nothing more. I know the great power of the wand. The tragedy that followed your disappearance is not your fault. If the blame lies anywhere, it’s with me. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. If only I had listened to you, given you the time you needed. I was foolish.”
Ondreeal shook her head. “No. I should have taken my mother’s wand the moment you offered it—not waited until damage had been done. I was so scared. Frozen in fear. What I wouldn’t give to change that moment. Death. All those deaths.”
Sir Francis sighed. “Only someone with a pure heart can carry such a weight.”
Ondreeal glanced up at him. Can he free me from this guilt? “Will you teach me so that I can truly control the wand?”
Sir Francis nodded enthusiastically. “And more. You will be a great guardian of light! One that I’m certain your mother would be very proud of.”
Her eyes welled with tears. She stepped back to blink them away when the world flashed. Ondreeal and Sir Francis stood in front of the Lumenary. The white stones of the church rose up to meet golden steeples, and its tall windows sparkled with blends of colors, like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Marring this beauty was a nearby makeshift stage with a plain wooden cross rising out of it. Ondreeal and Sir Francis stared up at it solemnly.
The world flashed again. Zairoc stood on stage, and looked just like he had the first time Ondreeal fought him—black, polished boots matched his finely- tailored pants and tunic. His dark hair was accented by frost behind his ears, and his icy-blue eyes twinkled at her as he held Sir Francis’s hand up to the wide crossboard of the crucifix. Ondreeal watched in horror as Zairoc ran a nail through her mentor’s palm, then turned back to her with a devilish stare.
Sir Francis didn’t flinch—he simply stared down at Ondreeal like nothing had happened. “My dear, I am so happy to have you home! There’s so much I want to tell you.”
Zairoc moved to the other side of Sir Francis, lifting the old wizard’s hand to the cross.
Ondreeal wanted to take a step, race on stage, and stop Zairoc—but she couldn’t lift her feet. Despite a whirlwind within, her body remained frozen in place. “Sir Francis, can’t you see him? He’s going to hurt you. Zairoc will kill you if you don’t stop him!”
Sir Francis stared down at her, his eyes finally filled with knowledge. “My dear, I’m not the one who can stop him.”
Zairoc placed the nail at the center of her mentor’s palm.
Ondreeal screamed at Zairoc. “Leave him alone! Get away from him! Sir Francis, please, you have to stop him. Please!”
Zairoc plunged the nail through the old wizard’s palm. Sir Francis wailed in pain.
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About P.J. Flie:
P. J. Flie is an author and educator passionate about working with the next generation of artists. He holds a BFA in theatre, and works in all aspects of theatre production from acting coach to director, set builder, lighting designer, and stage manager. He started writing at the age of 10, focusing on honing this craft throughout school and at college. Hailing from Canada, where he currently resides, he continues to create stories.
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